


These Savage Storms

by Lady_Therion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Nessian - Freeform, Post-ACOWAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: Cassian just wishes he could take it back…





	These Savage Storms

You will hear thunder and remember me,  
And think: she wanted storms. The rim  
Of the sky will be the color of hard crimson,  
And your heart, as it was then will be on fire.

—Anna Akhmatova

* * *

 

“Idiot,” Cassian swore. “You gods-damned idiot.”

This was the mantra the General Commander inflicted on himself as he soared above the gleaming domes and towering spires of Velaris. His hazel eyes were sharp and intent as they furiously scanned the crowded streets, the teeming bridges, even the darkened alleyways. He had been searching for hours now and swore again as a bolt of lightning struck the mountains peaks beyond.

The air had become thick with the promise of storm clouds and rain. Soon it would be too dangerous to fly, let alone search, but the sheer stubbornness of his nature urged him onwards. He was forced to reconsider, however, when a shower of hail erupted from the sky, sheets of falling ice pelting his wings. He banked left and landed on a rooftop, using a bell tower for cover as he willed himself not to panic.

These were the things that Cassian knew.

Nesta was gone.

Nesta was angry.

It was all his fault.

He had pushed her too far—had been pushing her too far for the last several weeks. He had done it because that was their dance; the miserable routine they performed in order to signify that nothing between them had changed. He took vicious pleasure in chipping away at her armor. She took vicious pride in parrying his attacks with steel and fire.

By doing this, they never had to acknowledge that day in the killing fields. By doing this, they never had to revisit the moment when she shielded his body with her own, willingly and without a second thought. By doing this, they never had to admit the earth-shattering truth—not to themselves and not to each other. Because neither of them knew what the other would do if they put that truth into words.

So they went on, continuing this pitiful charade.

And that’s where Cassian made his first mistake. Because for him, it _was_ a charade.

For Nesta, it wasn’t.

How could he have known that she had taken his barbs, his taunts, his half-cruel remarks as facts and not the meaningless jests that they were? How could he have known that every conflict they had would weigh heavily on her heart—a heart that felt so deeply—until it split and cracked under his mockery? His mockery, which was little more than an ill-fitting guise for his cowardice?

But he _should_ have known better. He was older than her by centuries, had led armies and trained countless soldiers. He had a talent for reading the emotional undercurrent of his allies and his enemies. It was a talent that kept him alive. And yet, that talent was useless when it came to Nesta. The unyielding and uncompromising female who had become his only blind spot.

He couldn’t remember exactly what he'd said to throw things into such disarray. One moment, they were having dinner with the rest of the Inner Circle—their banter and bickering no different from any other night. The next moment, she wasn’t saying anything at all.

It was as abrupt as an opponent throwing away their sword and stalking out of the ring.

The terrible silence that followed was uncomfortable for everyone present and near _unbearable_ for Cassian—who spent the majority of his meal trying to assess the damage. All he was able to gather was the tightness in her mouth, the tenseness in her shoulders, and the rigidity of her movements, as though she were coaching herself through the motions of eating and clearing her plate.

He was able to lock eyes with her only once. And though Nesta hid it very well, he was shocked to catch a glimpse of devastation in those blue-grey depths. Whatever he had said, it struck her hard and struck her deeply.

He was about to say something else before she rose and bid the rest of the Inner Circle a curt goodnight. Cassian waited all but three seconds before scrambling out of his chair to follow her. But she had already shut the door to her room long before he bounded up the stairs.

He knocked once, gently.

He called her name once, gently.

And when she made it clear that she was not going to answer him, he stayed where he was—sitting outside her door like a gods-damned dog. He waited through the entire night, dozing only a little before dawn before trying again. But just like the night before, she refused to answer him.

Her silence was a thousand times more chilling than her scorn.

By chance, he turned the knob to see if it was still locked. It wasn’t. And if that wasn’t questionable enough, his fae senses could detect neither her movement nor her scent. Opening the door only confirmed his suspicion: Nesta was no longer there. How she had left without anyone in the townhouse noticing was beyond him.

No one else knew where she could have gone, either. Not Amren. Not even Elain.

So here he was, freezing his ass off in a raging storm, chasing down the world’s most insufferable female so he could apologize for being the world’s most insufferable male. He wondered if the gods were laughing at him, placing bets and turning a profit over how much of a lovestruck fool he’d become.

“Hurry now,” a voice called in the distance. “You’ll catch your death out there.”

Cassian turned to see a priestess rush past the archway beneath him. The wet squelch of her boots pounding on the pavement as she ducked into the open doors of the library.

_The library…_

It was as good a place as any to start.

* * *

The priestesses bowed in friendly greeting at his arrival, one of them procuring a towel so he could dry off. He thanked her before wiping himself down as much as he could, then shook out his wings before tucking them in.

It was a warm and quiet evening at the library of Velaris. The repairs they made since the last time he'd been there were nearly finished as well. _Good._

He wandered through the aisles until he found the epicenter, leaning over the iron-wrought balcony to look into the cavernous deep below.

If Nesta were here, then where would she be?

He thought back to the weeks he recovered from his first encounter with Hybern, when his wings were knit back together by the sheer miracle that was Majda’s healing. It had taken him days to build up his strength to fly to the House of Wind—against Majda’s advice, no less. Because it was there that he found Nesta, sequestered in her little haven of books. As safe as she would ever be, now that she and her sister were no longer in the king’s clutches.

Surprise, anger, and hatred were the things she hurled at him then—in addition to a few of the heavier tomes Rhys kept in his collection. Cassian bore all her rage in stride, understanding that she had never asked to be a part of their court, and that everything she endured happened in large part because he was unable to stop it.

But his shame was too great to admit. So he complimented her on her aim instead, and asked if she would be willing to train with him. Then she told him to stay the hell away from her—a warning she would repeat countless times with varying degrees of contempt.

He tried to honor her wishes. He really did.

Mor told him it was best to give her space. Azriel told him it was best to give her time. Rhys said nothing on the matter, keeping his opinions on his mate’s elder sister to himself. But even then, Cassian just _couldn’t stay away_.

It didn’t make any sense, really. He knew he had no right to see her, had broken his promise to her, had made his publicly sworn vow worth fuck-all the moment she and her sister were thrown into the Cauldron.

Still...the need to see her, to smell her, to know that she was near and unharmed...this instinctive and primal desire overrode what little shred of good sense he had. Telling him _not_ to see her, though she found his presence about as welcoming as a naga, was like telling him not to breathe.

He couldn’t do it then, and he couldn’t do it now.

“Are you completely incapable of understanding the words ‘go away’? Or are they simply _not_ in your limited vocabulary?”

He whirled around to see Nesta standing behind him. That familiar spark burning inside those devastating eyes of hers. No small part of him was relieved that he hadn’t said anything stupid enough to snuff it out.

Still, the urge to goad her was overwhelming. He had spent so much of his time baiting her into verbal sparring matches that he didn’t know how else to talk to her. Most of the time, he did it just so he could provoke a _reaction_ —trying as hard as he could to keep her from withdrawing into that _dark place_ behind those impenetrable walls. But that was a tactic that he could no longer rely on. More importantly, that was a tactic he no longer wanted to _use._ If he was going to breach the divide between them, he would have to step into uncharted territory.

And that scared the hell out of him in more ways than he cared to admit.

“Tell me what I said,” he pleaded, unashamed.

“What?”

“Tell me what I said and I’ll apologize,” he said, throwing every ounce of sincerity behind those words. “I’ll go down on my knees if you want. I’ll never say those words again.”

Something in Nesta’s eyes dulled...no, softened. She bit her lip, then looked away—as she often did when her emotions got the better of her. He clenched his fist, using the pressure to keep himself level-headed. Not an easy thing to do when he was caught up in her intoxicating tempest. But he had the feeling that if he threw caution to the wind, and approach her like his instincts were roaring at him to do, then he would lose her for good.

Nesta sighed, looking very much like someone who had reached the end of her tether.

_Why didn’t he see this sooner?_

“It wasn’t any one thing you said, Cassian.”

He swallowed, tensing. Most of the time, she called him “you,” “idiot,” “commander,” and his particular favorite—“hulking brute.” On the rare occasions she did call him by name, it was because the circumstances were dire...and grave.

“What do you mean?” he dared to ask.

“It’s just...everything,” she said, sweeping her hands as though she meant the library; the world. “It’s everything.”

When he couldn’t think of a single coherent reply, it was she who approached him in the end. Her steps were careful and cautious, as though trying not to spook some anxious beast. Perhaps that’s what he was, if his racing heart was any indication.

She drew close, close enough to share breath with him, before placing a piece of paper in his hands.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” she said.

He unfolded it, bracing himself as if he were about to read a death sentence. His eyes scanned the first few lines once, twice...again.

He shook his head; couldn’t make sense of it.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice trembling.

The question was futile, however. He knew exactly what it was.

He just wanted her to say it; wanted her to explain.

But like the pillar of steel that she was, Nesta did not bend. “It’s a formal request to attend the general assembly in Montesere.” She tilted her head upwards, as if daring him to challenge her, knowing that he very well might. “As Emissary, it would be my duty to go. Azriel’s spies have gathered enough intelligence to confirm that one of the mortal queens’ ambassadors will be there. This could be my chance— _Prythian’s_ chance—to ferret them out.” And here, the coldness in her voice dropped by several degrees. “And I won’t stop until the queens are as dead as Hybern.”

Cassian stilled. “But the assembly is indefinite. You could be on the Continent for…”

She withdrew the piece of paper from him, their fingers brushing against each other for a fleeting moment. The contact stirred something inside him, some ache at the thought of her being so far away, so out of reach...

“I would be gone for as long as I would need to be,” Nesta finished.

His nostrils flared, heart now beating as wildly as Illyrian war drums.

It took all but a minute for him to make up his mind.

He grabbed her wrist—pulling her into a hidden alcove as she squawked indignantly behind him. Cassian didn’t care if they were making a scene. He didn’t want to have this conversation in front of the many eyes and ears that he was sure would report back to Rhysand or Azriel.

“Let go of me,” she growled.

“No,” he said, pressing her up against the stacks, one arm braced on either side of her head.

She bared her teeth at him. “Stupid, stubborn _bat_.”

He left her enough space to evade him if she wished, but a quick scan of that irritatingly perfect face told him she would rather knee him in the balls again. She was flushed with anger and defiance, yes. And maddeningly enough, it only made her more beautiful, the fire within her burning that much brighter. But there was no trace of fear. No, the Nesta he knew would never be afraid of him.

So he felt no hesitation when he leaned down, close enough for her to strike...close enough for him to kiss...

“You can’t go,” he said. “You can’t just _run away_ and _leave me._ ”

_Not after everything._

Her eyes widened by the barest of fractions.

It was a long moment before she reached for him. And instead of striking him like he thought, she cupped his face. His eyes shuttered at the contact, at how her fingers smoothed out the harsh lines he didn’t even know were there.  
  
“I’m not running away,” she whispered. “I’m moving on.” Silver lined her eyes. “You should too. It’ll be better this way...for both of us.”

Something broke apart inside his chest, shattering so hard he wondered if she could hear it. If the entire _city_ could hear it.

“I made a promise to you,” he went on. “I made you a promise that we would have _time_.”

“And what have we done with that time?” She shook her head. “Nothing. We’ve done _nothing_ with that time except be horrible to one another. And I can’t stand it, Cassian. I can’t stay here and pretend that everything is the way it was before.”

“Then we won’t pretend anymore.” He pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, allowing it. It was more than he deserved. “Stay with me. Don’t go.”

“Cassian,” she said, almost begging him. For what, he didn’t know. “I can’t. My father...I _have_ to go.”

Silence.

“Then take me with you,” he said, adding steel to his voice.

“What?”

He leaned in closer, nose grazing the crook of her neck, breathing her as if he would never get another chance. That cloying scent of thunder and rain and lightning.

Of the savage storm that was her.

“Take me with you,” he said again, that lovely, gods-damned scent rousing him. The part of him that _knew_  he would follow her to the ends of the earth, if she would have him. “I made a promise to you once—and broke it. There’s not a day that goes by where I’m not crushed by that failure. Where I don’t wish I could have done things differently.” He was close enough to now to take note of her rapid pulse. “Take me with you,” he pleaded. “Let me fulfill my oath...”

She squirmed, pushing him away.

“This is about more than just your _guilt_.”

“And this is about more than just your _fear_ ,” he countered.

She bared her teeth. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” He grinned in a way he knew would make her see red, canines showing. “Enlighten me then.”

A flush of anger reddened that glorious neck, making him want to sink his teeth into it.

 _Mother above, he was a fucking_ mess.

“You say you want to fulfill your oath?” she hissed. “What of your oath to your Court? The High Lord’s General-Commander can’t just disappear whenever he pleases.”

“You said this was Emissary business,” he said. “You _are_ my Court, Nesta.”

She scoffed.

“Do you really not know?” he asked, his voice choking with frustration. _Had he really failed this much?_ “Do you really not know how much you mean to me?”  
  
A faint tug strained in the hollow of his chest, a tug so faint he could have imagined it. But he knew he didn’t imagine it, because he knew without knowing how that Nesta could feel it too.

That thread that connected them both, as fragile and tender as an ember glowing in the snow.

“Cassian…,” she said, her voice hollow and broken. “You don’t know what you’re asking. This is _my_ battle to fight. And I won’t let you throw away your life so carelessly when you just _barely_ survived the last—”

He kissed her then. Hot, desperate, and searing. The weeks of tension exploding into an inferno that consumed them both. She sank into him, collided with him, drawing him into a flurry of rough, wet, and messy kisses. A clash of teeth and tongues and lips. And though she lacked experience, she _more_ than made up for it with her passion and eagerness.  
  
He lifted her up, throwing her legs around his waist with as little noise as possible, knowing just how easily they could be discovered. The very real possibility of getting caught adding more fuel to their flames. Her clever fingers undid the knot at the back of his head, letting his night-dark hair free so she could run her hands through it. He purred into her mouth as she stroked him, grabbed him, _pulled him closer_. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her jaw, her neck...and Mother damn him, she gave as good as she got.

When she began to nip at his throat, he fought the urge to ruck up her skirts and take her right then and there. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when she began to suck and bite at his earlobe, making him wonder aloud why they hadn’t done this weeks ago, _centuries ago._

“Because you’re an idiot,” she panted. “And so am I...”

He ground his hips against hers, driving his hardness into her, his instincts singing for _more, more, more_ as she mewled with every thrust. He could smell her arousal, thick and wet. And if he didn’t stop this—if he wasn’t careful—he would end up doing something _very, very_ foolish.

Still, it took five hundred years of battle-honed willpower to break apart their kiss, dousing it into something soft and chaste. Because Nesta was still grasping at him, clinging to him, like he was her anchor...

 _Mine, mine, mine_...her body seemed to say, answering some call in his blood.

“Cassian,” she murmured. “Cassian...please.”

“I want to claim you Nesta Archeron,” he said, his voice low and dark. “And I _will_ claim you, but not here and not yet.” He kissed her again, sweet and lingering. “When it happens, our enemies will be slain, our victory will be won, and we’ll both be _far away_ from here, taking a well-deserved respite in our own little nest. There’ll be a burning hearth, a feather bed, and we’ll be surrounded by all those ridiculous pillows you like so much.”

She snorted, but her eyes were bright and shining.

“I’ll worship you in countless ways,” he continued. “And I’ll make it so good that you won’t be able to walk for a _week_. And then, my Nesta, it will be _your_ turn to do with me as you wish. And I, your General-Commander, will be completely at your mercy.”

His Siphons flickered to underscore the truth of what he said.

She raised a haughty brow.

“Oh?” she said, her words cool, but her voice dry—and husky. “Is that a promise?”

He buried his face once again in the crook of her neck, embracing her tightly as the storm raged and raged outside.

“I swear it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, my loves.


End file.
